Asphyxiate
by The Typewriter Girl
Summary: When Scott develops dangerous asthma-like symptoms, Stiles is the only one who can save him. Bromance and whump! :)
1. Chapter 1

Scott cleared his throat as he bent over and dried his hair with a towel.

Three days ago he had nearly died from inhaling wolfsbane vapor in the back room of a warehouse, administered by Alison's _mom_ of all people. Since the incident, he'd noticed a small tickle in the back of his throat, coupled with a faint pressure in his chest. Deaton had dismissed him with a warning not to exert himself too much, but diagnosed that he should be back to normal after 24 hours.

As he slipped on a black shirt, Scott distantly wondered if he should tell anyone about his lingering symptoms, but ultimately decided against it. He was an alpha, after all; his body had healed all kinds of gashes, bullet holes and head injuries without any problem. A tickle in his lungs was nothing to worry about.

"_Scott, you're gonna be late for school!"_

Scott heaved a sigh upon hearing his mom's call echo up the stairs to his room. _She was such a mom. _He trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, snatching a piece of toast from the table before throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"You really should eat a better breakfast, honey," Melissa scolded lightly, throwing Scott a sideways glance.

"Thanks, but I'm gonna be _late_, remember?"

Scott threw her a teasing smirk as he uttered the remark, earning a pretend warning look in return. She stopped stirring her scrambled eggs a moment, looking him up and down before continuing, pressing her lips together in thought.

"Have you talked to Stiles?" She asked a little too casually, reaching up to fish out the pepper grinder from the cupboard above the stove. Scott eyed his mom wearily, noting how she had picked out the scrubs with the tiny brown dogs on them for the day before lowering his gaze to the floor. An uncomfortabe feeling in his gut tugged down the corners of his lips in a slighty-annoyed scowl.

"_No_, mom. Please stop asking," he sighed, stuffing the toast into his mouth. "I gotta go."

Without another word he spun on his heels, high-tailing it out the door as he threw his mom a quick wave good-bye. Melissa's concerned eyes followed him out, her lips spreading into a thin line as she shook her head slowly. _He was such a teenager._

Scott and Stiles had gotten into a fight after the night at the Warehouse with the shapeshifter. Stiles had been falling asleep, slumped deep in a chair when Scott woke up on the examination table. The skinny teen had jolted awake when he noticed his werewolf friend was up, scrambling into a sitting position; Deaton had gone to the back of the clinic to replenish some supplies, leaving the two of them alone in the room. Confused, Scott had sat up and asked his friend what happened. When Stiles explained how the Kanima escaped after he cut the line of mountain ash, Scott's eyes widened before turning into angry slits.

_"You _what_?!" He yelled._

_Stiles was taken aback at his friend's enraged reaction._

_"S-Scott, we heard your howl," he stuttered. "Derek made me break it so-"_

_"So what? So you could let the monster we've been chasing for a month _escape_?" He spat, jumping down unsteadily from the exam table. He stepped towards Stiles with clenched fists, emotion blanketing the dizziness he felt from the poison. He was furious; after all their preparation, time, and effort, Stiles had botched the entire thing._

_Stiles took a step back, eyes flickering with shock and confusion before acquiring some anger of their own._

_"Well _excuse me_ for saving your ass," he retorted, nose wrinkling. "You would've died in there if it weren't for-"_

_"I would have been _fine_!" Scott roared. He didn't really believe that, but his wolf-aggression was thumping full-throttle against his ribcage, blinding him to all but chewing-out his friend. "If you weren't such a pathetic _push-over_ we'd have the Kanima captured right now! When the hell are you going to grow up and stop being such a _wimp_, Stiles!?"_

_With that last phrase Stiles flinched, eyes flickering with hurt. Scott knew he had gone too far, but at that moment he was too angry to care._

_Just then Deaton burst into the room, eyes widening upon seeing Stiles pressed against the wall and Scott standing before him, breathing heavily._

_"What the _hell_ is going on here?" He demanded, stepping into the room. "Scott, you shouldn't be standing, lay back down, _now_. Stiles, I need you to-"_

_"-Stop being such a wimp?" The teen cut in, face tight. His gaze never left Scott, who was wheezing slightly and had a hand gripped on the table._

_"I hope you asphyxiate," he muttered._

_Without another word, Stiles brushed past Scott and stormed out the door, leaving a bewildered Deaton to tend to Scott._

After that, the two hadn't spoken. The weekend had dragged by without so much as a text message, and Scott was apprehensive about returning to school and running into him. He knew he needed to apologize, but he was still annoyed about losing the Kanima, not to mention still stinging a little from Stiles's remark.

Scott shook the thoughts from his head as he hopped on his motorbike and fumbled with his keys, letting out a sigh that triggered a few small coughs.

* * *

Stiles felt like he was in a Charlie Brown cartoon. He was slumped in his desk, cheek squished into his hand as he stared blankly at his history teacher. He saw her lips moving, but all he heard was "_wah wah wah wah._"

In truth, he couldn't concentrate. Like yeah, there was the whole ADHD thing, but mostly he was bombarded with the echoes of Scott's words from three days ago.

_"Pathetic pushover."_

_"Wimp."_

A small part of Stiles believed Scott. Another part of him thought about what he had uttered to his friend before walking out, a small thread of guilt snaking through his chest. Stiles sighed. He had managed to make it through the entire day without running into the werewolf, but he had forgotten about the history class they had together at the end of the day. _So close._ With a flick of his hand, Stiles "accidentally" dropped his pencil to the floor and cautiously bent down to pick it up, stealing a backwards glance at Scott. The werewolf was slouched in the same position Stiles had been, head resting in his hand as he stared at the teacher with dead eyes. He seemed a little pale.

_Maybe I should apologize_.

But the thought only lasted a moment before it was stampeded by a wave of anger. _No, let _him_ speak up first. If I blubber some sorry-ass apology it'll just prove how much of a _wimp_ I really am_, thought Stiles bitterly, whipping his head back around to stare at the clock at the front of the classroom.

The next twenty minutes of class dragged by like torture, making a snail's pace seem like a race car on the track of the Indianapolis 500. Finally the bell rang in a glorious, shrill symphony of freedom, immediately triggering a stampede of bored teenagers tripping over one another in their haste to rush out the door, chattering over the teacher's frazzled cries about something that sounded like homework and _wah wah wah._

Stiles picked up his bag and stood up, accidentally bumping his shoulder into a passing Scott. _Great._

The two met each other's eyes as they both hesitated a moment. Scott looked as if he was about to say something, but then apparently decided against it as his expression hardened slightly. Then the werewolf readjusted his backpack, lightly whacking Stiles on the shoulder before walking out. Stiles glared at Scott as he exited the classroom, mentally dumping a bucket of sewage over the alpha in his mind's eye. However, the image shattered when Scott suddenly started coughing underneath the doorway, his hand shooting out and grasping frame to steady himself.

_Didn't Deaton say he would be fine after a day?_

But then Scott straightened up, casting Stiles one more glare before stepping out. The imaginary sewage water was put on hold until next time.

* * *

Scott panted as he stumbled through the front door of his house.

Mondays were always crappy, but today was exceptional. All day the pressure in his chest had been mounting, making him feel like genuine, one-hundred percent _crap... _And to add insult to injury, he had looked like a complete idiot at the end of the day when he had that coughing fit in front of Stiles.

_Stiles_.

Scott tiredly dragged himself up the stairs to his room, rethinking their exchange when the bell rang. He had come so close to apologizing, but for some reason he couldn't find the courage to set his pride aside and _do_ it. He had just stared at Stiles's stupid, doe-eyed face and chickened out. _If only he wasn't so..._

Scott stopped at the top of the stairs, startled as he realized he was gasping for air. He silently panicked as he grasped the railing, suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness. _I shouldn't be out of breath, _he thought urgently, eyes pulled wide in bewildered fear. His chest felt tight as he wheezed, contracting another fraction with a jolt as he recognized the all-too-familiar feeling.

_Asthma attack._

The werewolf stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his feet in an effort to get to his room, where he kept a backup inhaler. He banged open the door and crashed to his knees by his bedside as he fumbled to open the drawer where he kept it. He frantically tossed aside old shirts and old comics, nearly ripping the table from the wall in his panic before he froze, an icy dread dropping into his stomach as he realized... He had thrown it out after becoming a werewolf. He hadn't needed it anymore.

Scott gasped for air as his airways constricted further with his mounting fear, stumbling backwards against his bed. _Mom, where's mom_, he thought desperately. But the icy panic writhing in his stomach amplified into electrifying terror as he realized his mom was working late today; she wouldn't be home until after dinner.

_When you're dead._

Scott swallowed thickly in between strained breaths as the terrifying thought popped into his head. He clumsily shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone with quaking fingers, staring at the black screen for a few milliseconds as he forced himself to swallow his pride. The faint beeps from the numbers he pressed sounded like a chorus of foreboding as he dialed the one person who could help him; the one person he _needed_.

The line rang.

_Come on come on come on come on_

It rang again.

_Dammit!_ He cursed himself for not apologizing when he had the chance.

It rang a third time.

Scott's head was swimming. He couldn't breathe. _he couldn't-_

"What do you want?"

Stiles's voice was cold and clipped. It sounded like he was in the car.

"Stiles," he gasped. "St-Stiles..."

There was a brief pause on the other side of the line. Scott pictured his friend frozen in his crappy periwinkle jeep he loved so much, eyes wide and head cocked as he fought an internal battle. It was hardly a second passed when Stiles spoke again, voice laced with worry this time.

"Scott? Scott, what's wrong?"

"Asthma... 'Tack..." He wheezed. His vision was wobbling in and out of focus.

"Scott? Scott, stay with me, I'm coming," said Stiles. His voice had a tremor of fear in it. Distantly Scott thought about how Stiles must be trying to keep a calm front for him. It wasn't working very well.

"Hurry..."

He managed to choke out that last phrase before his hand was overwhelmed with pins and needles, going limp as the phone tumbled out of grip to the ground. Scott screwed his eyes shut and tried desperately to draw a breath.

_Please hurry._


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was was on the road in his jeep blasting Blink-182. He did it whenever he needed to drown out his thoughts, and right now was a really good time for that.

No matter how much he tried to distract himself, Stiles couldn't get his mind off of Scott. They had been best friends from kindergarten, ever since Scott called Todd Agular a buttface for stealing Stiles's crayons. They had been through everything together; Scott's dad leaving, Stiles losing his mom, every heartbreak, failed test, lacrosse game, and more recently, when Scott had become a teenage-mutant-ninja wolf.

And now Stiles wondered if their friendship would be the same again. He looked out at the horizon, eyes crinkled at the sides with subconscious disappointment. He loved Scott, always would. He didn't want it to be over. _But the way Scott had glared at him today..._ Stiles sighed and reached a hand forward, turning the dial on the stereo up. It was a wonder he was able to hear his phone ring.

The skinny teen glanced down as the song "Hungry Like The Wolf" sounded from his vibrating cell phone, the ring tone he had set for Scott. Stiles let out a frustrated whine as he gripped the steering wheel.

_No, he wasn't going to answer it._ He was going to let it ring and show Scott that he was as cold and unemotional as Derek Hale pretended to be._ He was not going to give in._

The phone kept buzzing. The obnoxious ringtone seemed to get even louder.

The image of Scott coughing under the doorframe suddenly flashed in Stiles's mind. Stiles glanced at his phone again, pursing his lips. _What if..._

"Dammit, Scott," he muttered. He pulled over and turned the stereo down with a forceful twist. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he swiped the screen and put it to his ear.

"What do you want?"

Stiles did his best to sound like Derek; cold and gruff, with a slight undertone of waste-my-time-and-I-break-your-neck.

_"Stiles... St-Stiles..."_

The teen froze as the raspy voice hit his eardrums. All anger immediately drained out of him as he heard his friend wheezing on the other side of the line. A million possible bad scenarios flashed through his mind as he was suddenly drenched in panic. He gripped the steering will with the strength of a steel trap, knuckled going white as he willed himself to stay calm.

"Scott? Scott, what's wrong?" He demanded, heart racing.

_"Asthma... 'Tack..."_

Stiles could hardly hear Scott's strangled voice over the blood rushing in his eardrums. _What?_ Scott hasn't had an attack since before becoming...

Then he remembered how Scott had inhaled the wolfsbane vapor the night of the Kanima.

_When he called you pathetic._

The ugly thought reared it's head, temporarily taking refuge in Stiles's mind before it was banished by the tugging in his chest. _None of that mattered anymore._ Scott was his best friend, and he was in danger.

"Scott? Scott, stay with me, I'm coming," Stiles said, shifting the car into drive. He tried his best to mask the fear in his voice for Scott's sake, but he didn't think it worked very well. He whipped his head around to check behind him as he placed the phone on speaker and dropped it onto his lap. He could have sworn he heard Scott say _"hurry"_ before he floored the gas pedal and made a u-turn, speeding down the street.

He hoped there weren't any cops around.

* * *

It took seven minutes for Stiles to arrive at Scott's house. He knew this because he had started timing as soon as he hung up the phone, not long after Scott had wheezed "hurry." The werewolf had stopped talking after that, elevating the teen's concern to the tenth degree. Stiles had grown up with Scott and had been with him during a good number of his asthma attacks; he knew that from the start of a severe one, the average person had about ten minutes without treatment before things turned...

Stiles tried not to think about that as he screeched his jeep to a halt in the McCall's driveway, killing the engine before throwing the door open. He sprinted to the porch and dove for the flower pot on the windowsill to grab the spare key, proceeding to jiggle open the front door.

He barged into the McCalls living room, nearly tripping over himself as he called out to his friend.

"Scott?"

His yell echoed in the empty space, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting back into his chest, adding to his steadily-growing fear. Stiles didn't hesitate as he charged up the stairs to Scott's bedroom.

_Please be okay please be okay please be-_

Stiles whirled around the corner once he reached the hallway and banged open Scott's door, eyes widening at the sight of his friend.

Scott was slumped against his bed, head lolling onto his shoulder. His eyes were rolled up slightly under half-closed lids and his mouth gaped slightly, drawing in strangled breaths like a fish out of water. His hand weakly gripped the carpet; his phone laid a foot away, as if he'd dropped the device and didn't have the energy to retrieve it.

_"Scott!"_

Stiles's panicked cry momentarily overwhelmed the horrible gasps escaping his friend's lips. He was at the werewolf's side in an instant, crashing to his knees and cupping his hands around Scott's ruddied cheeks.

_"Scott?_ Scott, can you hear me?"

Scott's head lolled weakly in Stiles's hands. His eyes continued to roll up, fixated on some faraway point in space as he gasped for air that never passed his bluing lips. He didn't respond to his friend's frantic calls.

"Scott, stay with me!" Stiles commanded, fighting to keep the rising panic attack in his chest at bay in his chest. He wouldn't be of any help to his friend if he was wheezing on the floor with him. He frantically whipped his head around to the bedside table where Scott kept his backup inhaler. A cold dread bloomed in his stomach as his eyes swept across the strewn contents of the empty drawer on the carpet, realizing that Scott had already tried that... But it wasn't there.

_I hope you asphyxiate._

Stiles's heart twisted with guilt as the memory flashed in his mind. _No, nonono I didn't mean it!_ He cursed himself as he tore his gaze back to his friend, whose face he still held in his hands. He bit his lip as he fought back frustrated tears, utterly at a loss of what to do. _If Scott didn't have his inhaler..._

Suddenly the teen's mind flashed back to a memory from when they were younger; he and Scott were playing in the McCall's backyard after school one day when Scott had started wheezing and collapsed. Melissa had come running out and scooped up her son, carrying him into the house with a confused Stiles at her heels. She laid Scott out on the couch and hooked him up to a little steaming machine she had fetched from the closet...

_The nublizer._

Of course! Stiles jumped to his feet and breathed "be right back" over his shoulder as he charged out of the bedroom, whipping his head back and forth frantically. He tore down the hallway, ripping open every closet door and flinging out the contents, finding nothing.

_"Dammit!"_

The shrill shout escaped his lips on it's own accord as Stiles screwed his face in frustration. He stumbled to the last closet, situated at the very end of the hallway next to Mellissa's room.

_Please please please please_

He swung the door open and came face-to-face with the ventilator. Stiles had never seen a dusty old machine look so beautiful; he nearly cried with relief.

_"Thankyouthankyouthankyou..."_

Stiles tore the small device from the shelf and ran down the hall back to Scott's bedroom, panting words of gratitude in between every step.

Scott was positioned in the same spot the teen had left him, hardly breathing and on the brink of unconsciousness. Stiles quickly dropped the ventilator and hurried to his friend's side, grabbing him under the armpits and dragging him to the middle of the floor. Scott's eyelids fluttered shut as Stiles gently lowered his head to the ground.

"Scott, hang on. Just hang on," he panted, fumbling with the buttons on the alpha's shirt and tearing it open to expose his chest.

Somewhere in the fuzzy black fog that clouded his mind, Scott could faintly make out a voice; it sounded scared. He wanted to ask it what was wrong, but he couldn't figure out how to move anything. His entire body tingled with white-hot pins and needles, blanketing him in numbness. He felt light and dizzy as he floated on the fine line between awareness and the black abyss of unconsciousness. He noticed the he voice again, but it sounded muffled and farther away... His lungs burned as his body began shutting down. He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't-_

_"BREATHE!"_

Stiles screamed the command in Scott's face as tears dripped off his nose and fell to the hard plastic mask below with tiny pattering sounds. Stiles was straddled over Scott, pressing the steaming ventilator mouthpiece with trembling hands to his friend's blue parted lips. Scott lay limp with closed eyes on the floor beneath Stiles, limbs splayed around him. His strangled gasps had subsided to tiny, silent chest-spasms as his airway closed.

"Scott, don't you _DARE_ die on me!" Screamed Stiles, torn apart with fear and anguish.

Scott's chest trembled and stilled. He wasn't breathing.

Stiles froze, a fresh wave of tears cascading down his cheeks as he took in the form of his lifeless friend.

"No, no, no, _NO_!" He screamed, slamming his fist down on the carpet, unable to tear his gaze away from Scott's pale face. His hands quaked with grief as he realized with horror that he had wished this upon his friend. His_ best_ friend, who lay still before him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped inbetween heaving sobs. "I take it _back!_ Please, _God_ let me _take it BACK_! I didn't _MEAN_ it! _I LOVE YOU!_"

His tortured cries tore through the air as he threw his head back and howled them to the skies. And the he deflated, letting his head drop to his chest as he suddenly lost all energy to the drain of emotion. He sobbed silently over Scott, the occasional sniffle intertwining with the quiet hum of the ventilator, which he still held over his friend's mouth.

And then Scott trembled.

Stiles's eyes shot open, unbelieving.

The werewolf suddenly spasmed beneath him as he choked out a strained gasp, back arching off the ground. Stiles's eyes widened with rejoice as the residual vapor pried open Scott's lungs, allowing more of the medicated steam to enter his wracking body. Stiles ran a hand through Scott's hair as he kept holding down the mask with the other, new tears springing to his eyes as he encouraged his friend.

"Oh sweet baby Jesus, Scott. Yes Scotty, that's it! You're okay, you're okay Scott. Breathe..."

Scott's shuddering gasps slowly quieted to more even breaths, and after a few minutes his fingers began to twitch. Stiles watched as creases appeared between his friend's brow as the werewolf let out a small whimper, eyelids fluttering.

"Scott, you're fine now. I'm here, I've got you."

"S'iles?"

The alpha's tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth as he weakly rasped out his friend's name. There was something funny over his face. He tried to move his head towards Stiles's voice, but was gently pushed back down by a cool hand on his shoulder.

"Shh, don't talk."

"Stiles," he tried again, forehead screwing in distress. He had to tell him he was sorry.

"Stiles... I'm sorry I..."

His weak rasp was cut off by a sudden round of coughing. He hacked violently as the world spun around him, distantly feeling the cool hand return, this time to his forehead and smooth back his hair. Scott's head fell back against the carpet, feeling dizzy and exhausted. He heard a far-away-sounding Stiles tell him not to speak again, but he persisted, determined to tell his friend how he really felt.

"I love you..."

And with he utterance of those last words, Scott's world dimmed as he fell into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.

* * *

Hello readers! :) Thank you so much for the reviews! New chapters are on the way soon. Love, The Typewriter Girl.

P.S. (How great is season 4 so far?! I can't wait to see what's in store this season for our favorite wolfy (and human!) friends! Oh the agony of waiting for Monday nights!)


	3. Chapter 3

_"I love you..."_

Stiles's lips pried open a touch as he watched his friend breathe those last words before relaxing into carpet below him, eyelids fluttering shut as he passed out. The teen smiled a little, reveling in the sweetness of what his friend just told him before he blew out a long puff of air out between his lips. He rolled off of Scott, plopping heavily onto his back. Suddenly his limbs felt like jello, a nice after-effect of the roller-coaster of emotions he just experienced during, _you know_, watching his best friend basically _die_ and come back to life. At his own hands... _Damn._

With great effort, Stiles hauled himself over to his side so he could dig his phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial and waited, rubbing his eyes tiredly; it wasn't long before the werewolf picked up.

_"This better be good, idiot."_

"Geez, do you always answer the phone like that?"

Stiles's voice was rough from the strain of screaming and exhaustion. He could almost see the werewolf's eyebrows knitting together as he paused, clearly detecting it. The next time Derek spoke, his voice was cautious; it was as if he didn't want the kid to detect the tentative concern lacing his voice.

"What do you want?"

Stiles took a long, shaky breath before replying. He was too tired to give the alpha every detail right this minute, so he reported the abridged version.

"I'm at Scott's. He had an asthma attack, died for about ten seconds, now he's unconscious. He's fine now."

Stiles barely spit the words out before Derek cut in, tripping over his broken sentences.

"_What?_ What- Stiles. How did- Is he... But _how_?"

Stiles smiled a bit at the werewolf's worried stuttering. _So the furball had a heart after all._

"He's fine, don't worry-"

"-_I wasn't worried_-"

"-I think it had something to do with the wolfsbane vapor he breathed in from last Friday," Stiles continued, breezing over Derek's abrupt denial. "Deaton said he would be fine but..." The teen trailed off, glancing over protectively at Scott.

_"I'm coming over. See you in fifteen."_

And the werewolf hung up.

Stiles turned his head to look at his sleeping friend again. _He looks like a dragon_, Stiles mused. The mask was still hooked up to him, letting out little puffs of steam over Scott's mouth, as if he were breathing smoke. Stiles closed his eyes and let himself collapse back onto the floor, relishing over the sensation of his body pressing against his friend's plushy white carpet. He was utterly spent. He listened contently to the sounds of the alpha's blessedly even breaths. _In, out. In, out. In..._

* * *

Derek arrived at the McCall house at the promised ETA. Throughout the journey from the ajar front door to the stairs, he could detect faint whips of fear in the air, presumably leftover from Stiles. _It's a wonder he was able to help Scott without having a panic attack_, he thought grimly, rolling his eyes inwardly. He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and quirked an eyebrow as he saw the lineup of chaos scattered gracelessly across the hall. All the closet doors were wide open, their contents strewn over the hardwood floors as if a tornado had ripped through the hallway.

"Stiles?" He called out tentatively.

A peek around the next doorframe revealed the teen's location. Stiles was asleep on his back on the carpet, a small trickle of drool inching out from the corner of his mouth. He lay next to Scott, who was unconscious and had some sort of puffing ventilator over his mouth. Derek smiled a little (against his will) when he noticed they were holding hands. He carefully tiptoed his way into the room and crouched down next to the sleeping human, who was snoring softly. Derek took a moment to take in the kid's face. He looked so... _adorable._

As soon as the word crossed his mind, Derek tensed and banished it with a scowl.

_"Wake up, idiot!"_

He growled loudly into Stiles's ear and nudged him in the ribs with his boot. For emphasis. The teen awoke with a start, immediately jumping up and flailing his limbs, nearly whacking the alpha in the face.

"_Derek!_ Ohmygod," he panted. "Uh... Hi."

Derek rolled his eyes. Then he jerked his head over to where Scott lay.

"Do you mind telling me just how exactly he ended up like that?"

* * *

Stiles told Derek everything, starting with Scott's first asthma attack when he was five and ending with how Derek _rudely_ woke him up. The pair had then decided it was best to call Deaton and report what happened.

Stiles got up and started to pull out his phone, but suddenly a very strong werewolf hand shot out and gripped his wrist. Stiles's gaze wandered up the muscular arm and met Derek's emerald irises.

"I'll call him," the werewolf growled, eyebrows pulled down in his signature scowl. Then his eyes softened a touch. "Scott will want to wake up and find _you_ by his side..."

And Derek took the phone out of Stiles's hand and walked out into the hallway. Stiles watched him go before turning back to Scott. During the conversation with Derek, Stiles had switched off the machine and removed the mask, seeing that Scott's breathing had returned to normal. He glanced at his watch; _he's been out for half an hour now..._

As if on cue, the werewolf suddenly sighed softly. Stiles whipped his head around to see Scott stirring slightly. He immediately scooted over and gently placed his friend's head in his lap, eyes dancing in relief. Scott blinked owlishly up at him through squinted eyes. The lines on his brow were pinched together with what Stiles suspected was one hell of a headache.

"Hey," said Stiles, a tiny smile grazing his lips.

Scott swallowed and shifted his gaze over to a fascinating stain on the ceiling.

"Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like a truck hit me in the chest," he replied. Scott's voice was cracked and strained. He let out a small breath and closed his eyes sleepily.

"You found the nubilizer," he murmured, smiling a little.

"Yeah... Kinda killed your hallway trying to find it, though."

Scott laughed a hoarse, dry chuckle before the end of his lips fell again. He opened his eyes and looked up at his friend, eyes ridden with humility.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

"...I'm sorry too, Scott."

"Let's not ever fight again, okay?"

Stiles cracked a grin.

"Deal... Unless you ever decide to die on me again. Then I may have to yell at you. Or get Derek to beat you up."

"With pleasure."

The two boys looked up to see the brooding werewolf leaving against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. _Or was it an amused grin?_

"Derek," breathed Scott. His face was caught somewhere in between an embarrassed wince, a bemused smile, and a confused eyebrow furrow. He struggled to sit up. Stiles came to his aid and helped him lean back against the bed. "What're you-"

"-Stiles called me over when you were out. I just got off the phone with Deaton," he cut in, throwing the phone back at Stiles, who clumsily managed to catch it. "He says you should be fine now that you've had the nubillizer. Apparently the asmanex in the vapor is a wolfsbane neutralizer."

Stiles and Scott looked at each other, mildly dumbfounded. Come to think of it, Scott noticed the tingle in his lungs was gone.

"Really?" The younger alpha asked breathlessly, a quirked grin springing to his face as he looked up at his mentor.

"Yep. He wants to see you tomorrow just to be sure but... You're fine now." Derek flashed a quick smirk at the two of them before spinning on his heels.

"Where are you going?" Asked Stiles, lips pursing slightly in a subconscious pout. Derek paused and turned to face them, looking them over.

"Now that nobody's in mortal danger anymore, I'm out." He walked out the door. "Try not to die again anytime soon, okay Scott?" He called from the hallway.

The two boys sat in silence as they listened to the werewolf's heavy boots tread down the stairs and out the front door.

"Thank you."

Stiles turned to look Scott.

"You saved my life..."

Stiles looked down and smiled sheepishly.

"I'm just glad you're okay, buddy."

Stiles felt two hands appear on his shoulders. He glanced up and met Scott's smiling face. His eyes were filled with affection.

"I'm proud of you, Stiles."

Stiles gazed back at him, amazed at how the werewolf always knew what he faced inside, and how he never failed to recognized it. _He was truly a friend worth keeping._ Stiles leaned in and wrapped his arms around his friend, squeezing him gently.

"Thanks, Scott."

* * *

_The end!_ Thanks for checking out my second story, readers! If you liked it, check out my other fics for more **bromancy, whumpy goodness** between our beloved Teen Wolf characters! Happy reading :) Love, The Typewriter Girl.


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